


Scrabble

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 03:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18402533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: In which an early version of the board game leads to some interesting times.  Take a peek at a few different nights, different games, and you'll get the idea.  And if you were wanting to know a little more about Carter and his old girl friend, Mary Ann, and the REAL reason he didn't escape when he got that Dear John letter, this will possibly fill in some more of the blanks.





	Scrabble

When the Red Cross package arrived containing a board game called Criss-Crosswords, they were mystified. Well, it had only been invented a few years before, by Alfred Butts, and never produced commercially. (Later, after being acquired by James Brunot, the name would be changed to Scrabble and later became quite popular. The guys found it amusing to be able to tell others that they and their barracks mates were among the first to play the game, other than the inventor and some of his friends.)

The instructions soon sorted out much of their confusion, and it became a favorite pastime. They found it an interesting way to deal with some of their dull hours (and they did have those; you can't be blowing things up and running scams and being up to general monkey business ALL the time). AND, as could be expected, it led to the dictionaries getting a workout, and more than a few arguments.

 

"I am bloody well spelling it right, Kinch. C-O-L-O-U-R, colour - like Louie's red scarf or my blue uniform. Colour!" The Englishman was scowling at the rebuke from the American.

"I know red, and blue, Newkirk, along with green and orange and red, and it's C-O-L-O-R, every time! Just because you don't like losing . . ."

"Well, you don't know your 'colours' as well as you think, if you're wanting to put down G-R-A-Y and 'ave it pass, mate. It's G-R-E-Y!

A quick check of both dictionaries, English but the American AND the British version, led to a few scowls but grudging admission that they were both right. They each just thought they were MORE right!

 

"Hey, Newkirk! You've got too many letters in that!" when Newkirk proudly laid out M-A-N-O-E-U-V-R-E.

"No, I don't, Andrew. 'Ow would YOU spell it then?" Only to snort in derision when Andrew told him "it's M-A-N-E-U-V-E-R. I remember that from my high school spelling bee."

 

"R-E-C-O-G-N-I-Z-E" Kinch said, dropping that last E into place.

"Ei, now, Kinch old mate! That's spelled with a S, not a Z!" to looks of scorn from Kinch and Carter both.

 

LeBeau tended to watch and just shake his head. Obviously they were all wrong about the first - it was spelled C-O-U-L-E-U-R, of course. Newkirk had it right with his M-A-N-O-E-U-V-R-E. And how they ALL managed to mess up that last one, he'd never know. I mean, how wrong could you be? The word was R-E-C-O-N-N-A-I-T-R-E, obviously! Well, perhaps their mistake was understandable, since none of them could pronounce it correctly anyway! 

"And that is one of the problems with English, mes amis. Why do you need two ways to spell the same word? You should all just learn French; that would be much more sensible."

No one seemed in favor of that, so the game went on, while LeBeau prosed on about how French was just so much easier, so much more understandable, so much more eloquent, so much more CORRECT!

Not only did the dictionaries, British, English and French, get a real workout, so did their minds. And more than once, a particular word would start one of the guys thinking along lines they might not have done otherwise, at least not at that moment. Sometimes they shared their thoughts, and the discussions got as interesting as the game; sometimes, they kept their thoughts to themselves, for various reasons. For example . . .

 

(Kinch) -

Kinch had had a very tough month, and there was still one last day to get through. Things were annoying him much more than usual, the guys in the other barracks, that last group of flyers, Newkirk and Carter, even LeBeau was grating on him, never mind Klink! He was trying to be philosophical about it, and had set his mind that, once that calendar page was turned, his mood would lighten as well. There was no guarantee of that, of course, but he had to focus on SOMETHING other than how difficult things had been.

He hadn't really been interested when Carter had insisted on pulling out that Criss-Crosswords game. It would be just one more opportunity for his barracks mates to get on his last nerve. Well, what with the spelling differences, and Newkirk always so sure the British spelling was the RIGHT one, and with LeBeau bemoaning the 'inelegance' of the English language in general, and Carter chattering on about anything and everything, some game related, some not, it was hardly relaxing! 

Of course, it was better once he'd realized the reason Newkirk was always so sure Kinch's spelling was wrong WASN'T because he expected a black man to be uneducated (though he'd never gotten a hint of that mindset earlier); it was simply that there WERE so many differences between British and American English. What was that he'd read, 'The United States and Great Britain are two countries separated by a common language'? George Bernard Shaw, maybe?

He just wasn't sure he was up for another game, not now, not with the temper he felt coming on. These were his barracks mates, his team mates. A quarrel or bad feelings were the last things any of them needed.

Then he remembered Mr. Baxter, his seventh grade teacher. Mr. Baxter was an uncommonly intelligent man, but amazingly down to earth too. What on earth he was doing teaching in the neighborhood was a mystery to just about everyone, and some people didn't approve - said he'd teach them to count themselves too highly, that would just get them in trouble sooner or later. 

But Kinch had felt lucky to have Mr. Baxter as a teacher. Now, he remembered that one auditorium, as the principal liked to call the class gatherings, sometimes all grades, sometimes just a few. Kinch had been dreading it, like he did most of them. 

Sometimes it was just a boring hour of listening to the principal drone on about rules and regulations. Sometimes, though, like this time, it was with a speaker, and that was usually worse. At his school you didn't usually get anyone interesting or uplifting or motivating; you more than likely got someone doing what they felt was 'charity work', coming to a poor neighborhood like his. Even worse, you sometimes got the ones thinking to reinforce the difference between 'stations', and how Kinch and his fellow classmates needed to keep that difference firmly in mind and not forget where they stood 'in the natural order of things'. He gritted his teeth through those. 

This time, there were to be three speakers, two women, one man, and he just couldn't see that that would be any improvement, three chances to get bored or frustrated instead of just one.

Somehow, Mr. Baxter figured all that out, how Kinch and some of the other kids felt, and he thought up what he called 'a coping mechanism'. Well, at least, he described what a coping mechanism WAS, and gave them some examples, and let them each come up with one or two they thought might work for them. "Sometimes you can turn it to your advantage, make it a profitable learning experience, but even if all it does it help you make it through, that's quite a lot right there."

Kinch had been skeptical at first; I mean, playing mental games while someone was up on that stage either being condescending or sweetly malicious or sternly preaching seemed a little off. But, to his surprise, it worked. (He'd found later that it worked on far more than that one occasion, too.)

He'd spent the whole lecture with an attentive, respectful expression on his face, meanwhile alternating two coping mechanisms. First, by playing a spelling game with himself, seeing which of the big words the speakers used that he could spell, making mental notes of the ones he needed to look up when he got back to the classroom. Then, when he got bored with that, he switched to picking out words they used and trying to come up with at least three synonyms and three antonyms for them. 

It was almost funny; one female speaker only used tiny little words, like THIS group wouldn't understand anything else. It was like she was talking to the second grade, not the seventh. The other woman used really long words, all spoken in a very superior tone, either trying to impress them or their principal, but more likely, her fellow speakers. 

The man, his words were sharp and to the point, no mistaking them, or the grim expression on his face. Kinch was very glad he'd had the coping mechanisms when the man had ended his speech with a falsely benevolent, "and you young nigras will get along just fine, as long as you remember your place, do as you're told, and don't go causing any trouble." Kinch almost snickered, thinking the man must have forgotten his visual aids, the burning cross and white robe and hood.

 

"Hey, Kinch. You in the game or not?" Carter asked, mixing up the tiles.

Kinch looked around at the eager expectation on the other faces, drew a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah, I'm in."

{"So, maybe words that express what I've felt this past month. That could do the trick. Probably won't get many to play on the board, but it'll keep me occupied, and keep me from acting like a jerk. It's not like it's THEIR fault I'm in a bad mood."}

And it did, and it was a funny thing. As he found opportunities to play out some of the words, the hard ones came first, and as he lay down each word, he seemed to feel a little of that emotion being laid aside as well.

A-N-G-E-R  
A-G-G-R-A-V-A-T-I-O-N  
D-A-R-K  
A-N-N-O-Y-A-N-C-E  
B-I-T-T-E-R  
W-O-R-R-Y

Then, he found himself able to see some less harsh words in the tiles he drew -

C-O-N-C-E-R-N  
C-O-M-F-O-R-T  
H-O-P-E  
F-R-I-E-N-D-S-H-I-P

 

Finally, as the game drew closer to the end, he lay down the word

B-R-O-T-H-E-R-S

Then, using the very last of his tiles, he put down one last word to capture the win.

S-M-I-L-E - and realized he was doing that very thing, a smile matching the ones on his team mates faces as they congratulated him, slapping him on the back, laughing and teasing each other about some of the words they'd all put down.

{"Thanks, Mr. Baxter."}. He decided right then and there, if he made it back, he was going to look up Mr. Baxter and thank him in person. 

 

(LeBeau) -

Even Hogan had been amused. Every word LeBeau put down on the board had something to do with food or drink or cooking in some way. And, since many of the words were unfamiliar to the men, though perhaps less so the more time they spent with the Frenchman, LeBeau was taking it upon himself to justify many of the words with not only a definition but even more, methods of preparation or if it were a utensil, how it was to be used. Complete with hand gestures!

So he'd given them

O-M-E-L-E-T-T-E  
R-O-S-E-M-A-R-Y  
C-R-E-P-E  
V-O-L-A-U-V-E-N-T  
F-U-M-E  
S-A-G-E  
B-A-I-N-M-A-R-I-E  
F-E-N-N-E-L

 

"Bloody 'ell, we not only gotta EAT that French cooking, now we gotta get a cooking lesson in the middle of the bleedin game! Come on, Louie! Aint there something ELSE you can put down?? Or at least stop nattering on about it??!" Newkirk protested.

"Well, I would not have to give you a cooking lesson if you knew more about fine cuisine. OR if you just accepted my word that these ARE proper words!" LeBeau retorted, pretending a slight pout. He was having fun with his little game-within-a-game. Well, that, and annoying Newkirk, of course. It was his turn, after all; Carter had that job yesterday, and had managed it quite well, so much so that the interaction had inspired LeBeau to see if he couldn't do an even better job of it.

"Aint no chance of that, mate! Put together a bunch of nonsense and we're just supposed to nod and smile and give you the game? No bloody way! So, that last word, if you want to call it that, what's THAT supposed to mean, a 'funny Kraut'? Don't seem to fit with all else you've been, excuse the expression, feeding us."

LeBeau blinked in confusion, then snorted. "No, you idiot! 'L'amuse-bouche' - it is a small bite-sized appetizer. 'A funny Kraut'! Of all things! Why would you think I would ever put down something like that??!"

"Yeah, Newkirk! The only really funny Kraut around here is Schultz, and you wouldn't call HIM small or bite-sized! Heck, and he's sure not an appetizer! Boy, bet he'd be a full course meal for the whole camp!" Carter offered with an innocent grin, getting appalled looks and groans and protests from everyone, and a look of sheer horror from their French chef.

 

(Carter) -

Then there was the time when Andrew Carter got on a real roll, playing off the others' offerings rapidly, laying down in order - 

L-O-V-E  
C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D  
C-H-E-M-I-S-T-R-Y  
C-O-N-F-U-S-E-D  
G-I-R-L-F-R-I-E-N-D  
R-E-L-I-E-F  
B-U-F-F-A-L-O  
I-D-I-O-T

Then, one last time - L-O-V-E. 

When Newkirk protested, "you already used that one, Andrew," Carter had just nodded with a grin. 

"It's worth saying twice, Peter; that's what my mom always told me, anyhow!"

 

Later, laying in his bunk, he grinned at that last game. Though the other guys never knew it, he sometimes challenged himself with the Criss-Crosswords. You know, making sure he only put down words that kept with a theme he'd decided on right up front, just to himself. That's what it had been that afternoon, and he was kinda proud at winning the overall game AND keeping to his theme; it had been really neat to be able to begin AND end the game with his theme word. That gave him double points, at least in his own mind.

All those words that kept showing up on his tiles, well, they made him think, (or maybe it was all the thinking he'd done recently that let him see those words when they appeared), and thinking made him remember, now, as he stared up at the bunk above him where Newkirk was making that little snuffling snore that he made on his more peaceful nights.

Now, silently, he explained it all to Felix, curled on the blanket beside him.

{"Funny, I knew from when I was a little kid what the rest of my life would look like. I'd grow up, get a job, find a girl, fall in love, settle down, have a family, easy peasy. Just like most everyone else in town did. That's what I expected, ya know?

But it wasn't all that easy. And it sure as heck wasn't what I was expecting it to be like. I mean, really, it wasn't. Cause in real life, it seems like it's a lot more complicated. Love, I mean. Huh. Go figure!

Now my mom and dad had talked some about love; you know, growing up, finding someone, falling in love, having a family, all that. Well, my mom more than my dad. My dad just wasn't all that much of a talker in the first place. But they didn't talk about love at first sight; it was more about finding someone who liked the same things you did, that you liked being with, someone with the same kind of values. They didn't mention 'coming from the same background', which they wouldn't, of course, cause they didn't, though I heard that a lot from other folks. 

But you hear a lot about love from other places too; well, at least I did, in school and books and songs and all that. Sometimes it was about the kind of love like my folks talked about, but a heck of a lot of the time it was about love at first sight. And that always puzzled me, cause how COULD you love someone right up front like that? How could you even know if you LIKED them that fast? I mean, it didn't seem possible, so I kinda put it out of my mind, figured that wasn't something that was going to happen to me anyhow.

Nope, for me, it would be the ordinary way, cause, let's face it, if there's anything I am, it's ordinary. Well, mostly anyhow. Well, okay, maybe not so much, but that's still what I expected. And besides, it made sense. If you found someone who fit all the requirements - liked the same things, had the same values, that you liked being with (or at least, didn't DISLIKE being with) - wouldn't the rest - love, I mean - just be the logical next thing to happen? That's what a lot of folks seemed to think, anyway. 

I guess I was thinking about it like arithmetic. You know, 2 plus 3 plus 5 equals 10. It always worked out that way, whether you put the numbers in a different order or not. It seemed like it SHOULD work that way with people too, but if that was true, there wouldn't be all those stories and songs and stuff, right? Boy, that was confusing!

Well, the older I got, the more confused about the whole 'love' thing I got - both the fast kind of love and the slow kind. Past the whole 'is love at first sight even possible' question. Just 'love' in general. 

I mean, how do you know it when you see it, when you feel it? How do you recognize it when it hits you? How do you know it's the real thing? And, how do you know what to do when it does, and it is, real I mean, but it's maybe not what you expected it to be like? And, though this was a question I was too embarrassed to ask anyone, for a long time anyhow, why don't you feel it when it would only make sense to, when it seems like you should? 

See, Mary Ann, she was my girlfriend back home, and while I liked her a whole lot, she never gave me the chills and fevers and that odd little feeling in your stomach and the dizzy feeling in your head with your heart beating real fast that I'd always heard about, and that was a little disappointing. I mean, one of my friends had an older brother who fell in love maybe five or six times in high school, and that's how HE always described it.

Though I have to admit all that sounded to me kinda like a bad case of the flu, so maybe I wasn't TOO disappointed. I kept hoping maybe I'd be lucky and get the good parts of love WITHOUT those symptoms of something that made you want to stay in bed and groan and throw up and drink hot chicken soup.

But when I'd dance with Mary Ann, and it was fun, but I didn't want to dance all night til dawn? When I'd look at her and somehow didn't get the urge to sigh and just want to have the moment last forever? When I didn't want to write poetry to her eyes, even though they were real pretty eyes? 

When I didn't think up stories about me rescuing her from a bad outlaw gang, or running in front of stampeding buffalo herds to save her or anything like that? Well, I mean, I wouldn't want her to get hurt or anything, but heck, I'd be the same about pretty much anyone, you know? Well, maybe not my science teacher . . . But, no, not even him. Probably. Though he really was a real jerk, you know?

Anyhow, it worried me some. Oh, it wasn't that I didn't get all, well, you know, 'excited', with her, cause I did, at least sometimes. Sometimes when we'd dance, or I'd be walking her home, or maybe other times too, but I didn't let her know about it if I could help it. I didn't think she'd appreciate it, cause she was real prim and proper. Well, and since it wasn't really because of her, me getting all 'excited'. And I didn't want her thinking it WAS because of her, cause that kinda seemed like lying. Cause, half the time when we were together and it happened, I wasn't even THINKING about her, or anything in general. It just HAPPENED. I didn't think she'd appreciate that either, that I wasn't even thinking about her even though she was right there beside me.

Somehow, the getting excited? It just seemed like what a teenage guy couldn't HELP but get, whether he wanted to or not. Heck, I even got that way sometimes just walking across the field, or reading Farmers' Monthly magazine, or watching the hawks flocking over a dead raccoon, or feeding the chickens. I mean, shouldn't it be MORE than that?? In fact, when it happened and she was with me, it just didn't seem any different, any more important than what I woke up with most days.

Oh, it wasn't BAD with her and me; I don't mean to say it was. I liked taking her to dances, liked talking to her, all that. It was good having someone to take to the drugstore for a soda, someone to say "that's my boyfriend, Andrew," and smile over at me and me smile back. Just, somehow, I figured there'd be more, ya know? But there wasn't, just that same ole, same ole. Nice, well, sure, but nothing special. 

Yeah, I could see us getting married someday, having kids, all that. It just didn't seem like it'd be anything special then, either, anything to look forward to. You know, pretty much like it was now with us going to school together and doing homework together, me doing outdoor chores, her having inside ones, her telling me where I was going wrong - every day, except for weekends, at least during the school year. Only, me with a job instead of school, and with a wedding ring, and all the time. ALL THE TIME!

Now, that was a discouraging thought, like I'd be in school for the rest of my life, and not just during the school year and the regular week, but all day, every day, every day for the rest of my life. Actually, it kinda gave me the chills thinking about it, so I finally started feeling those symptoms everyone always talked about. Made me think about throwing up. And about chicken soup. Yep, still felt like the flu.

Now it wasn't like we DID anything, me and Mary Ann, I mean, not much, not THAT, anyway. I didn't do much of that, well, any of that really, or anything else much, not til I joined up and was away from home; heck, I even gave the guys at Stalag 13 the idea that I never HAD done that, even had Peter thinking I'd never even really kissed before, though that wasn't true, of course. Once you're wearing a uniform and are away from your home town, the girls kinda look at you different, and suddenly you've got opportunities you've never even dreamed of having. Opportunities you'd have to be a real idiot to turn down; I mean, that's what the army gives you all those talks for, right? And all those little packets?

But, back home, you just DIDN'T, not without being married, not in MY town, anyway. Though sometimes I did wonder if that wasn't quite true; we DID have a heck of a lot of five and six and seven-month babies that seemed to come that first year people got married, (though the others after that pretty much took nine months to get the job done), and even those were born with fingernails and everything. My dad, he said that was just cause of all the minerals in the local water supply and the bride and groom drank a lot of water at the reception, and that's what made those babies come early and still be so big and healthy and all.

My mom just rolled her eyes when he started giving me that speech. Made me a little uncomfortable drinking water for awhile, though, first time he told me that, when I was a little kid, til mom told me it didn't work that way, having babies, not for little boys anyway, and it was okay for me just to go ahead and drink my glass of water with dinner.

Yeah, I know, but give me a break - I was only six! I had it all pretty much figured out by the time I was . . . Uh, well, never mind.

You see, I figured it was just me, the not getting all misty-eyed and everything over Mary Ann. That maybe I just wasn't the emotional type, cause when I got a little older I'd heard some people weren't. That some people just never got married because of that. And even for those who did, a lot of marriages were just for 'convenience', though marriage never seemed all that convenient, not to me anyway. Seemed to me to take a heck of a lot of work, in fact.

Anyhow, I decided that was it, just me not being the emotional type, cause for sure Mary Ann was everything a guy could want. No guy could have asked for more. Well, maybe a little more, in a few ways, well, maybe in a lot of ways, but then, my dad had always told me I should be reasonable in what I was asking for, and I knew I wasn't any Adonis either, and I had my own faults, and more than my share of quirks, and well . . .

So, there I was, thinking I really should fall for Mary Ann, really TRY anyway, seeing as we got along okay, and she seemed to like me alright, or at least she didn't complain about me too much, no more than most people did, but somehow, I just didn't, and that was real confusing. 

And when she started talking about getting married, like real soon, it confused me even more. You'd think that would have made me real happy, but it just made me want to jump on the next outbound train and not come back til she got over the notion. And that made me feel guilty, and made me think maybe I should just go ahead and say "yeah, let's get married," and get it over with and make her happy. I even went out and bought rings, just in case!, but I just couldn't bring myself to say "okay", and that was confusing too.

I'd even gone back to Mom and asked her about it. (Mom, not Dad. It was just Mom and me by then. Dad, well, I'll go into that later. Maybe. Well, maybe not.)

But Mom, she said you needed more of a reason for getting married than just because I was holding down a full time job at Mr. Perkins' drugstore and Mary Ann saying it was time cause she was turning nineteen and didn't intend to be an old maid. And Mom said it was MORE than just, well, you know, me 'reacting' like what Dad had told me would happen when a guy saw a girl and wanted, well, you know, THAT, and decided he wanted THAT with her more than with any OTHER girl. 

HE'D told me that it was just that simple, and I should stop trying to make it more complicated than it needed to be. I have to admit, the way he described it, it didn't sound a heck of a lot better than what happened sometimes when I was feeding the chickens, then having to slip out back of the barn for a little privacy, if you know what I mean. 

My mom, though, she said it was more, way more. She could describe it, love, I mean, in a way that just put a smile on your face and a real warm feeling in your heart. Made you think it was something really worth having, worth feeling, worth waiting for. 

And she told me sometimes you DID have to wait for it. And you shouldn't make do with something else, SOMEONE else, cause then when love DID come along, you'd already be stuck, both of you, and that was a real sad thing. Said SHE was lucky; she'd known Dad was the one she wanted right up front, and it had worked out for them, but sometimes people just weren't that lucky, or that smart, or didn't feel like they could wait for some reason or other.

She told me she didn't want a 'make do' for me; she wanted the real thing for me, and I should want that, wait for that too.

She said that sometimes love would hit all of a sudden, like some of the books and songs said; other times, it was a slow growing thing. And the key was to be smart enough to recognize it when it DID come along, whichever way it came, cause sometimes it wasn't real obvious. 

But, she told me, when it DID come along, I should grab hold, hold on with all my might, because it was worth whatever you had to do to make it work. And what she told me, well, it stuck with me. 

Course, what my dad said stuck with me, too, and sheesh, talk about confusing. See, I know my dad loved my mom; he really did. He HAD to have, considering all he gave up for her, for us. I mean, he even left the res, all his family and his life there, for her, so she could be close to her family, especially after I was born. He really tried to fit in with everyone, though that wasn't too easy and didn't work all that good all the time. He worked real hard to give us a good life. But, he was never one for the mushy stuff, ya know? 

I really wish he had been, at least more for talking about it, cause between you and me? I really could have used a little more guidance, especially once I ended up in Stalag 13. Boy, when Colin Olsen switched places and got me tossed into Stalag 13, I knew things were about to get complicated. I just never realized HOW complicated!

See, turns out my mom was exactly right. Well, she usually was, about most things. Just, she never went into details about just how REALLY unexpected love could be, when it DID come along! Guess maybe she was just smart enough to know that for each person it's different and there wasn't any way she could say what it would be for me. Even as smart as she was, I don't think she COULD have seen how it would be for me.

Of course, I didn't recognize it at first, at least, what it was. I even headed out on the escape route away from Stalag 13, just like the Colonel had arranged, after I'd been there just a week or so. Got most of the way out, then realized I couldn't leave, that my place was back there. I was needed back there, for more than one reason; I could feel that, deep inside, though I hadn't figured out just why. Like that was my place, like I had a job, maybe more than one, to do there. Grandfather would have said it was my 'calling'. 

Turns out, I needed to be back there for a few reasons of my own, too, one of those reasons being love.

And, boy, wasn't THAT a shock! Oh, not that I ran face-first into love; I had a habit of running face-first into a LOT of things! I always figured, even if it wasn't Mary Ann (and I had still had hopes of that kinda growing in that direction once I got back home), I figured it would be SOMEONE, some day. But where it happened? Who it turned out to be? Heck, talk about a surprise!

But when he stepped in so fast to keep Colonel Hogan from getting mad at me over letting that much information drop to that spy. When he took the blame right off the bat. When I looked into those eyes of his, blue green, a color I'd never seen in eyes before, and I just didn't want to look away. When I found listening to his voice, to that odd way he had of talking, found it could make me smile inside even though being in a prisoner of war camp wasn't anything to be smiling about. When I found myself watching his lips, all pouty-like, when he smoked a cigarette, the way his tongue slid out so slow and easy as he wet his lips when he was playing cards. 

Oh, heck, excuse me, didn't mean for that to happen. Just don't pay any attention, okay?

Now, where was I? Anyhow, all that kinda made my insides do funny things. Well, my outsides too, like just now, but I tried real hard not to let anyone notice about that. But it was enough to make me stop flat out in my tracks halfway along the escape route, head back; enough to make me stay once I got there; enough to make me do whatever I had to to make sure Colonel Hogan LET me stay. 

And no, I WASN'T intending to leave when I got that Dear John letter from Mary Ann, but it's what they would have expected me to want to do, I thought, the Colonel and the guys, you know, so I had to keep in character. Heck, to tell you the truth, by then I couldn't much even remember what she looked like. I was more relieved than anything else.

I just hoped the guy she was marrying knew she couldn't cook very good, and that she had a really screechy laugh. And had that habit of keeping a list (I mean really a list - written down and everything!) of every single time you did something dumb or got on her nerves or made her mad, and insisted on reading it to you (the whole thing!) every once in a while just to remind you not to do any of that again. Well, you know me, Felix; it was a pretty long list. How she wanted to keep on living on the upstairs floor of her folks' place even after she got married, and the only one whose opinion was going to count was her mom's. Heck, I figured that out after just a couple of Sunday dinners at their place! And how she tended to look down on anyone her parents looked down on, (like, for example, my mom and dad), and didn't want to hear any different from you, saying it was 'disrespectful and ignorant' to disagree with their opinions. 

(Wow! Looks like I remembered more than I thought I did! No wonder I didn't want to get married!)

Anyway, I'd been way too busy to be thinking about Mary Ann, cause it was all still real confusing, trying to figure out just what was the deal with Newkirk, and why it all made me feel like it did. Like when he stepped in to keep some of the guys from beating up on me. And when he teased me and scolded me, even yelled at me sometimes, but almost always with that little smile in the back of his eyes, and if not a smile, then with a look that told me he was really WORRIED for me, CARED about me. Me, personally, not just a guy who happened to be sharing a barracks with him.

And then, on that really scary mission, when I SAW that German soldier aiming that gun right at me, and it was like I couldn't even move, and I knew I was gonna die, and then Newkirk was diving into me, knocking me out of the line of fire, holding me down to the ground, me feeling his heart racing to match mine. Somehow, him squeezing me so tight, and that whisper of "Andrew, you bloody git! Gonna get your self bloody well killed! Don't DO that, ya flamin idiot!" sounded like he was saying something else, ya know? Feeling the blood dripping down, finding out he'd gotten himself shot protecting me? Well, that left some odd feelings that I just didn't understand, but couldn't shake, either.

That feeling, it just kept growing. And I was really puzzled about what it was, cause it seemed I should be able to put a name to it, but I just couldn't. Never even thought about it being THAT! Which was kinda dumb, when you think about it. I mean, back home, in town, sure; but on the res? Heck, my uncle, Flies With Eagles, shared a lot more than just a house and meals with Jimmy Black Wolf; had ever since my mom was just a kid. 

Well, maybe I'd have recognized it easier if I'd put it all in perspective, but I didn't, but I started getting hints, like someone whispering in my mind. Funny, that someone sounded a whole lot like my grandfather, who was really awfully smart about all kinds of stuff. So I started trying to pay more attention.

When he complained about me being so clumsy, and talking too much, and I started realizing how good that made me feel, like what he was saying wasn't REALLY what he meant, like it meant he liked me and worried about me, maybe even more, or at least different, than the others, even though that didn't really make any sense either.

When it turned out I could pull him out of one of his black moods when maybe no one else could, could distract him when it looked like he was headed in that direction, enough that it never happened, at least not then.

And then when I started ended up winning almost every gin game, even though I wasn't that good a card player, and he was the dealer and was simply the best at winning (cause he cheated real good, better than anyone I'd ever seen, not that I actually SAW him cheat, you know; he was just that good!). 

When I'd get all banged up, and he'd be scolding me like I was an idiot and he was so mad at me for BEING an idiot and getting hurt that he'd be trembling, but his hands were so gentle when he rubbed liniment on me or helped bandage me, and there was a look in his eyes that made me feel all safe and warm. 

I kinda just accepted all that, until the time he got caught out in the compound with those three guards, when they were aiming for me; he got really hurt doing that, protecting me; could have gotten killed doing it. That was the first time I can remember him saying that, calling me that, 'Andrew-luv'. Still, I was so upset, I tried not to make too much of it; just a slip of the tongue, ya know? Just cause I was starting to think in that direction, didn't mean HE was.

Then he didn't come back from a meeting with an Underground agent called Northstar, and it looked like Colonel Hogan had just written him off, decided to let the Gestapo keep him. 

I'm a pretty easy going guy, ya know? And me wanting to go get a gun and force the Colonel to help me and the guys go get him back? Knowing that for HIM, I WOULD step in front of that buffalo stampede, knowing that would be a heck of a lot better than standing by watching him die? Feeling like I didn't want to go on breathing if he wasn't too? That made it real hard to go on pretending nothing was happening.

And then, the feeling there in that jail, hearing his voice calling out, "is that you, Andrew? Blimey, thought you'd never get 'ere!", knowing he was alive, I thought my heart was going to just explode. And then I knew.

Yep, no matter how much I didn't understand it, it just had to be love. Was from the start even. It just took me awhile, way too long, to figure things out. 

Now, the problem is, just what the heck am I going to do about it?"}. 

Carter was still considering that when he drifted off to sleep, leaving Felix to mull over all he'd heard. {"Humans. So complicated!"}

 

(Olsen) -

Colin Olsen hadn't been doing it deliberately, but his last trip outside the wire had been memorable, and the effects seemed to be long-lasting. In fact, he was only half paying attention to the game, when he got called on his words.

"Olsen, are you sure that's you? Those words you're putting down, it's almost like we have Langenscheidt playing!" Kinch had remarked, laughing, looking down at the board. Sure wasn't what they were used to with Olsen, who tended to play using words that had something to do with dogs or movies. No, now in front of them they had -

E-N-C-H-A-N-T-M-E-N-T  
S-P-R-I-T-E  
M-Y-S-T-E-R-Y  
N-Y-M-P-H  
S-P-I-R-I-T  
D-R-Y-A-D  
F-R-O-L-L-I-C-K-I-N-G

"Well, it's better 'e's acting like Langenscheidt, Kinch. Can you imagine if 'e was channeling ole Brust? Can just imagine the words 'e'd be coming up with. Likely we'd NEVER get to sleep!" 

They shared a rueful laugh, acknowledging Brust and his lewd stories got more than a little rude and vulgar more often than not. 

Of course, it didn't end there, in fact, that notion causing them to sweep off all the tiles and start a new game, rather to Colin Olsen's unspoken relief. By the time Hogan got back from his little social call on Klink, he took one look at the Criss-Crosswords board and just shook his head. 

"Guys, what the hell . . .???! No, never mind, I really don't want to know! I suppose it's better than Strip Monopoly! But whoever put down THAT word," pointing with one finger, "misspelled it."

He never understood the roar of laughter from his team, nor the seemingly puzzled comment from Carter, "wasn't that where we came in, guys?"


End file.
